


Untitled

by witling



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Angst, Attempted Rape, M/M, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-27
Updated: 2011-05-27
Packaged: 2017-10-19 19:55:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witling/pseuds/witling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We're a family,” said Jack, and then he smiled at them as if he'd just said the most genius thing in the world.  They all sat staring at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

Later, when it was all over, he skulled half a bottle of whiskey and explained it all, all the ins and outs, the reasons it was unimportant, to Owen. It seemed important that he do that. Explain it to someone.

“The thing is,” he said, struggling to keep his eyes open, to keep himself upright in the booth, “the thing is, the thing is, it didn't change him. You said so, you said it just made him more _himself_. It was still him.” He pointed, because that was the important thing. Where the hell was his whiskey? Owen was looking at him, his brow furrowed. “Still him. Just more so. Just more so than usual.”

“You're not much of a drinking man, are you, mate?”

“I'm fine.” He fumbled for his glass, which was emptier than he remembered. Faintly, he could feel heat from his split lip. “Wait—did you drink this?”

“Time for bed,” Owen said, reaching across the table. He slipped a hand under Ianto's arm, and for a dead man, he was very strong. “I'm calling you a taxi.”

“The funny thing is,” Ianto muttered, letting himself be led out of the pub. “The funny thing is, he'd never say under ordinary circumst...circumsit... He'd never say that any other way.”

 

 

It was a tiny little thing, like the flame of a single birthday candle, that came floating out of the rift when no-one was looking.

They weren't looking because they were busy firing silver-jacketed rounds into the giant gila monster that had come out of the rift at the same moment. The one that was bent on making Cardiff's main shopping district its own personal buffet. It took all the bullets they could throw at it, shook off a lather of frothy brown blood, and set off at what looked like a casual lope: thanks for the welcome, I'm a bit peckish, think I'll just go see what's in the back cupboards.

“Gwen, Owen!” Jack barked, snapping around and sprinting for the SUV. Tosh was already there, disappearing into the backseat and the blue glow of the computer. “Tosh, tell me how to get ahead of it.”

“Ahead of it?” She was stabbing at the keyboard when Owen and Ianto piled in beside her, crowding her into the computer arm. “Ow! Get off me, for God's sake.”

“Where's it going, Tosh?” They were peeling out, the doors still open, Jack's foot through the floor. The tires squealed and smoked. Ianto, last in, flailed for the door handle. Later, he'd think of that moment, when he'd seen that brief yellow spark visit the top of the door, then drift inside, toward the driver's seat. Toward the back of Jack's neck. At the time, he didn't even really register it. Everything was so confused—there'd been sparks from the bullets, the muzzle flares, the glare of the streetlights. There was no time to ponder a spare spark, an optical illusion produced by stress and darkness.

He heaved, the door slammed. He was tossed sideways into Owen, who didn't seem to notice the elbow in his ribs.

“Downtown,” Tosh reported, tracing the screen with her finger. “It's going downtown.”

“I always hated that song,” Jack muttered, and with a wrench of the wheel and a stomach-slewing swerve, they were headed downtown too.

Ianto, struggling to get his gun back into its holster, trying not to bruise Owen, thinking ahead to the situation downtown when a komodo dragon the size of a Volkswagen bus burst onto the scene and started eating people, didn't think twice about the spark.

 

It took three rounds from the big gun to put the beast down, and when it was done they all stood on the top of the slope, staring at its torn and twitching carcass in the bottom of the drainage culvert, breathing hard. Regrouping. Gwen had a bloodied gouge across her forehead, her empty pistol in her fist. Tosh was holding a twisted length of pipe; she'd grabbed it up when it had yanked her gun from her hand with its long forked tongue, and literally eaten it. The pipe was steaming, disintegrating—as they stood there, half of the length fell off and hit the pavement, and they all jumped.

All except Jack. He had the big gun in his hands, the muzzle still smoking, and he was grinning. Ianto caught sight of the grin, and couldn't look away. It was perfect Jack, quintessential Jack, manic and cocky, flushed with success. You couldn't fail to respond to it, to be transfixed by it. Not if you were Ianto Jones, at least. Office boy, sidekick, hero worshipper.

“Down, boy,” Jack said, and for a terrible moment Ianto thought it was directed at him, an admonition for the adoring look he'd just been caught out giving—but Jack was still looking at the monster. “Bad dog.” He laughed, slung the gun up against his shoulder, and turned on his heel. “That was kind of fun.”

Gwen stared at him. Blood was running into her eye, but she didn't wipe it away. He gave her a paternal smile, then reached down and pinched her ass. She jumped again, and almost dropped her gun.

“Jesus Christ, Jack.” Tosh swung the rest of the pipe into the culvert and stepped between them. “Gwen, let's get that fixed up, shall we?” She gave Owen a look, and he kick-started guiltily.

“Right, sorry. Come on, my kit's in the car. I'll stitch you up nice and neat, Gwennie. No visible seams.”

The three of them started for the SUV. Ianto lingered, fiddling with his gun, ejecting the cartridge to verify that yes, indeed, he had no bullets left. He'd fired every one when the thing had come at him full tilt, its mouth gaping like a red-and-black view into Dante's second circle, and of course the bullets had made no difference—it had run right over him, knocking him sideways and silly without even noticing he was there.

Jack was looking at him. Ianto dropped his hands and tried to look alert. He had to repress the automatic _Sir_ that rose to his lips, product of all his upbringing and training. When you were shagging the man, you didn't call him _Sir_. Except sometimes, when you were both in the mood and things were clearly tending that way and there was nobody else around to hear what was or wasn't said.

Jack opened his mouth, then paused, his eyes narrowing. This was where he'd say, _Are you okay?_ Ianto had a quick answer and a smile prepared.

“Come here,” said Jack.

Ianto paused. This wasn't how the script was supposed to go. It wasn't like the others didn't know what was going on—for God's sake, Gwen had walked in on them with Ianto's hands down Jack's pants, Owen had made comments about stocking flavored condoms in the infirmary, the bastard—but they had an agreement. A tacit one, maybe, but that was the kind Ianto liked. They agreed to follow protocol. No public displays of affection, for lack of a better term. No pet names, no petting. None of that, not at work. It was already complicated enough—they had to at least pretend, for everyone's sake, that it was simpler. That it could be simpler.

Jack tipped his head to the side. “That's funny. I thought I just told you to come here.”

Ianto stepped forward. “What's going—what is it?” It must be something he wasn't seeing, something about the dragon-beast, something about him. Or—was Jack hurt? He hadn't even thought of that. He never thought of that. “Are you all right?”

Jack said nothing. He reached forward, slipped a big hand around the back of Ianto's neck, and pulled him in. The kiss was hot and hard, almost painful. Ianto pushed away.

“What are you doing?” Jack still had hold of his neck; their faces were inches apart. Jack was grinning again. “Stop it.” A shove to Jack's chest did no good. Feeling that this was getting out of hand, Ianto tried to twist his head free, but Jack caught hold of his ear and yanked. It hurt. Ianto turned with it, and felt something hard and heavy drop onto his other shoulder. It brushed his throat. Cold metal. With a shock, he realized it was the big gun. “Fucking hell—Jack!”

“You two all right?” That was Tosh, twenty feet off across the car park, staring at them as if they'd both caught on fire. Ianto froze. Jack's hand released his ear, and gave the side of his head a quick stroke.

“Fine,” he called back. “Just settling the details.” He lifted the gun from Ianto's shoulder. It hadn't been pointed at him, Ianto realized. Just resting there, using his shoulder as a shelf. Not all that unreasonable—none of it had been unreasonable, really. He'd overreacted. A quick kiss after a thing like that, was that so strange? Still, he stepped out of arm's reach.

“Someone's going to have to clean this up,” Jack said, turning to look down at the monster's steaming corpse. “I nominate you, Ianto Jones.”

“I—”

“And make it quick. We can't have the locals seeing it.” He turned and gave Ianto the _Are you going to challenge me?_ look. The one that didn't seem to work on Gwen. It always worked on Ianto.

“I'll need...” Ianto stared at the body, trying to imagine how he was going to do this. “God, I don't even know, it's so bloody big.”

“Size doesn't matter,” said Jack merrily. “As I'm sure you've been told before. Just get it cleaned up, Ianto. That's the job.”

He walked away to the SUV, taking Tosh by the elbow and steering her back with him. Alone by the culvert, Ianto realized that he was still holding his gun uselessly in his hand. Had been, the whole time.

 

 

Owen wanted the monster for an autopsy, of course, and the whole process involved chains and pulleys and the big lorry they garaged in the basement for occasional jobs like this, but it was done before dawn. Ianto stumbled into his office with his tie pulled loose, his jacket and holster long gone. His shirt was a disaster, covered in shit-colored smears of monster blood. He smelled like a knacker's, and felt ready for one.

“Oh six hundred thirty,” said Jack, from Ianto's desk chair. Ianto jumped and stumbled over the wastepaper basket. There was a click, and his desk light came on. Jack had his boots up on the desk, on the neat stacks of incident reports. He'd wrinkled them, Ianto noticed with irritation.

“What?”

With elaborate care, Jack checked his watch. “Oh six hundred thirty. That's the time. You must be exhausted.”

Ianto pulled his tie over his head, wadded it up, and dropped it onto the edge of the desk. He was exhausted. He was too tired for this, whatever it was, Jack's teasing tone and his too-proprietary manner. Another time, Ianto knew he'd fall for this, be on his knees for it. Willingly. Not tonight.

“I'm going home,” he said. “To sleep. I'll be back in a few—“

Jack was shaking his head. “No way. Sorry, Ianto. We need you here.”

“What—why?”

“You belong here,” Jack said flatly. His gaze was level and blue. “Take a shower, we'll call out for a pizza. You can sleep in the infirmary.”

“What?” The whole night, the insanity of it, had started to snowball. Giant dragon monsters, corpse removal, that stupid twist to his ear, and now what—sleep on a stretcher? Jack was out of his tree.

“Stay here.” Jack's tone was final, the tone of a captain who brooked no refusal.

“Sod off.” Ianto grabbed a clean jacket from the back of a chair, and left.

 

 

He went home. To his little flat with its quiet rooms, its empty shelves, its dust. He was raised to be neat, but he was never here, and he had other things to do. Monsters to shoot. Reports to write.

He stood in the shower for ten minutes, stumbled damply to bed, and lay awake. He'd swept straight past fatigue and beached somewhere else, in a strange flat space where he could listen to the early songs of the birds and see, over and over, the grin on Jack's face, the smoke drifting from the mouth of the gun, the long, twitching claws in the bottom of the ditch. Vaguely, he wondered if Jack loved him. He'd always assumed no, but tonight had been different. That kiss, in front of everyone. The command to stay. _You belong here, Ianto._ Was that what love looked like?

It was stupid and strange, but he couldn't let it go. Finally he gave up and had a peremptory wank, just enough to let him drop the whole bloody thing and fall asleep.

 

He made it in for three o'clock, yawning and puffy-eyed but in pinstripes and carrying a very tall, very strong cup of coffee. Tosh was on the computer; she watched him walk directly to the espresso machine.

“Two at a time,” she observed. “You look like you need it.”

He nodded somberly, banging grounds from the filter.

“You're late,” she said, going back to the screen. “Everyone else is already here.”

“Late?” A lifetime's phobia of lateness, disorder, and disorganization sent a throb of adrenaline through him. “Late for what?”

“You didn't get the call?” She was slipping off the stool, turning from the computer, gathering up a few files. “Jack called everyone in. He's got a new case.” She started toward the conference room, then paused. “Ianto, last night—I just wondered, is everything all right?”

He looked at her from under his brows. Willing her to stop talking.

“I just mean, it seemed like Jack was...it looked like it hurt, what he was doing.”

“Don't know what you mean.”

She stared at him. He kept his eyes down. The machine sputtered, and a few drops of boiling water hit his hand. He didn't move.

“When you were at the culvert,” Tosh went on, earnest and dogged, as if somehow she thought he really didn't understand her. “He was holding your head down.”

“Oh, that.” He smiled, and gave a little laugh. “Wasn't anything. I had something in my eye.”

She opened her mouth, and he abandoned the machine and brushed past her. “In the conference room, are we?”

He was conscious of holding himself stiffly, his shoulders pulled to his ears, his head down, everything about him saying oh-so-clearly, as it always had, _Nothing to see, nothing to see, move along._

 

“So,” said Gwen, “what's this new case?” She was slumped in her chair with a plaster on her forehead and circles under her eyes, eight stone of bad attitude and sleep deprivation. They'd all been in a couple of hours already, Ianto learned. Everyone but him had got the call. His mobile was in his other jacket, in the trailer, in the basement. Covered in monster blood.

Owen looked...well, he looked like Owen, pretty much the same as ever. He'd managed not to get banged up by the monster, and he didn't need to sleep, so he just sat there looking pale and drawn, with his long white fingers tapping the underside of the table. Tosh looked tired, but not shattered. She had good staying power, better than the rest of them. Something to do with keeping a low profile, or else she plugged herself into the same socket as the servers.

Jack looked great. He sat at the head of the table, hands spread to grip its edge at either side, leaning forward as if he were about to pitch them all a really killer sales plan. He was practically glowing with energy, his eyes alight, his cheeks pink. As Ianto watched, he brought his hands together in a single loud clap like a rifle report. Everyone but Owen jumped.

“Jesus, Jack—“ Gwen was pinching the bridge of her nose, clearly trying for self-control. “We're all a little tired today, so could you please just tell us what's going on?”

“We're a family,” said Jack, and then he smiled at them as if he'd just said the most genius thing in the world. They all sat staring at him.

“Er,” said Owen, his eyes cutting left to Ianto, then across to Tosh.

Gwen took a breath, and templed her fingers beneath her chin. “And?” she prompted.

Jack shook his head, as if they still weren't getting the fabulousness of what he'd said. “We're a _family._ Torchwood. We work together, we belong together. We're a team.”

There was another small silence.

“I fail to see,” said Owen, “what's so meeting-worthy about this.”

Jack held up a finger. “I've made a decision. I'm the leader, I'm the head of the family. Basically, kids, I'm the boss.” He paused to smile at each of them in turn. “From now on, we stick together. And we stay here.”

“We what?” Tosh leaned forward, a look of complete bewilderment on her face.

“We stay,” Jack said, taking something from his pocket and holding it up. “Here.” It was a small, flat device, like a remote control. He showed it to them, like a magician misdirecting attention, then thumbed a button. From somewhere above, there was a low, heavy _whump_. Then another, and another. “We don't leave.”

Gwen opened her mouth, looked at Ianto, then looked back at Jack. “That's not funny.”

“What is that thing?” Owen was squinting at the device.

“It's the master key,” said Toshiko. “It controls the Hub. All the systems.” She sounded flat, almost absent, as if she were running ahead, chasing her thoughts down to an inevitable conclusion and not liking what it was. “Jack just locked us in.”

“Locked us—what the hell? He can't do that. Why the hell would you do that?”

“I told you.” Jack slipped the device back into his pocket, and spoke slowly, as if they were backward children. “We belong together. No more running around in the world, getting hurt, getting shot—” He waved a hand at Owen. “Or worse. I care too much about all of you to let that happen.”

“To let what happen?” Gwen was sitting up straight now. “Jack, what are you going on about?”

“Sometimes,” Jack said, “a leader has to make hard decisions. I just made one. Cope and deal.” He sat down and leaned back in his chair, his legs crossed expansively at the knee. “This meeting's over. You're dismissed.”

“Dismissed to do _what_?” Owen looked around at them. “Are you completely out of your—“

“Dismissed,” Jack repeated. “That means leave. Go do your job, Dr. Harper. If you're still sitting there at the count of three, I'll come over and start breaking fingers.”

They gaped at him.

“One.”

“Jack, this is insane!” Gwen stood up, her hand out. “Give me that thing.”

“Two. Get out, Gwen.”

“I really think—“ Ianto started to say.

“You can't do this!” Owen was on his feet now too, his voice raised, and Ianto felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Bad, bad. Somehow this had gone very bad.

“Three,” said Jack, and then he swung up out of his chair and started for Owen. Ianto leapt up; he was between them. Jack went around, but he stepped sideways, into Jack's way.

“Jack. Jack!” He got a hand up against Jack's chest, had to backpedal as Jack kept going, ignoring him. “Jack, stop. He's going. Owen, get out.” Bad, bad, bad.

Behind him, he could hear Gwen and Tosh hesitating, caught between the urge to help him and the fear that anything they did would make this worse. He couldn't hear Owen at all, but then, Owen didn't breathe.

Jack stopped. Ianto pressed his palm into Jack's chest. Warm, solid. He'd felt it many times before. Never like this. Never afraid that violence was about to be done.

“He's going,” Ianto said again, and thank God, Owen went. Didn't say anything, but Ianto heard him go, and then Tosh. Leaving Gwen at the end of the table, waiting for him.

“Don't ever disobey my orders,” Jack breathed, his eyes on Gwen, then flicking briefly to Ianto, almost as an afterthought. As if Ianto were a foregone conclusion, a faithful retainer he could afford to ignore. Which, well. “Tell them that. If any of you disobey me, I won't count to three again.”

“No,” Gwen said. There was an angry catch in her voice. “What will you do, Jack?”

Jack took a deep breath, and for a moment he looked terribly, ferociously happy. “I'll do whatever it takes. To discipline you.”

“Ianto,” Gwen said. “Ianto, come on. Let's go.”

He stayed there a moment, his hand to Jack's chest, searching for something in Jack's face. A window, a chink in the armor. Some sign that this wasn't really happening, not really. Thinking, _It's me, Jack. Ianto Jones, faithful retainer. What the hell is going on?_

Jack didn't even look at him. He stared over Ianto's shoulder, at Gwen.

“Ianto,” Gwen said again.

Ianto dropped his hand, turned, and followed her out.

 

 

“What the fuck is going on?” They were in the autopsy room; Owen was whispering. The lights made him look more dead than usual. “What the fuck is wrong with Jack?”

Tosh, consulting her handheld, shook her head. “I don't know. He's locked us in, he's locked down the armory and the electrical closets. He's killed the phones, cut us off from the network...and I'm getting strange readings. Almost like rift energy, but...”

“But what?”

“But they're coming from Jack.” She looked up at them, her eyes wide. “How is that possible?”

“The monster,” Ianto said. “Something about the monster. Did it bite him, or, or, do anything--”

Owen was shaking his head. “Not the monster. Definitely not the monster. I autopsied it. Cut it into bits of stew meat. No rift energy on it, nothing weird about it at all.”

“Nothing weird,” Gwen repeated, one eyebrow raised. “Giant, slavering dragon-beast running on all fours through Cardiff, trying to eat people.”

“Well, nothing apart from that.”

“It's not the monster,” Tosh confirmed. “I checked Owen's report, there's no sign of anything like this kind of energy coming off it. It must be something else.”

“Something else from the rift.” Gwen chewed her lip. “Did anything else come through?”

Later, Ianto would think back on that moment, and on the moment in the SUV. The memory would seem much clearer, much more obvious, in hindsight.

“No,” he said. “Nothing else. Just the giant slavering dragon-beast.”

“I didn't see anything,” Owen said. “Maybe another rift?”

“I'd have caught it,” said Tosh.

“Look,” said Gwen. “The important thing is, something's wrong with Jack. He's locked us in here, he's threatened us—”

“He said he cares about us,” Tosh put in. “Too much to let us go.”

“Too much to let us leave the building,” Owen said bitterly. “Me, I'd be fine with some neglect.”

“Jack's sick,” said Gwen. “We need to find out what's wrong with him. Someone needs to get close to him. Talk to him.”

There was a pause, and then Ianto noticed they were all looking at him. The autopsy room felt suddenly very small.

“Oh,” he said. “Right. Okay.”

 

He found some papers that needed to be signed, just regular workaday requisitions stuff. They all stood around watching while he foamed milk for a cappuccino.

“Check his pupils,” Owen said in a low voice. “Respiration—see if he's breathing funny. Sweating, shaking, anything like that. Any odd smells. And if you get close enough for a quick heart rate check—“

Ianto stared at him.

“Right, sorry.” Owen backed off, his lips compressing. “Anything you can find out, just let me know.”

“Don't do anything brave or stupid,” Gwen said. “Really, Ianto. We don't know what we're dealing with, we just want a little information.” He nodded, wiping down the foam pipe. “Be careful, all right?”

“Maybe you should take a gun.” Tosh shrugged when he looked at her. “Just to be safe.”

“I'm not shooting him.” It had already occurred to him, but carrying a gun into Jack's office for some routine paperwork would give the game away. Besides, he was fairly certain the gun would only end up in Jack's hands anyway. It wasn't a theory he cared to test. “I'll be fine.”

“We'll be right down here,” Owen said, handing him the saucer. “Yell if you need help.”

Ianto gave him a tight smile, adjusted the cup on the saucer, and picked up the papers. Then he had to wait for Gwen and Owen to realize they were standing in his way, and get out of it. “Thank you.”

“Be careful,” Gwen repeated, and he nodded, cleared his throat, and started up the stairs to Jack's office.

The door was closed, the shutters drawn. He hesitated, wondering if a knock would bring Jack out in a rage, then reminded himself that that was part of what he was here to find out. At least the pinstripes weren't his favorite suit. He steeled himself, gripped the saucer, and knocked with two knuckles.

“Come.” That was Jack, sounding relatively sane. Ianto risked a quick look back down to the first floor, which seemed very far away. The others were down there, supposedly going about their work but in fact clustered suspiciously close to the base of the stairs. Gwen glanced up, and their eyes met. He turned and opened the door.

The office was dark except for the desk lamp, which was turned to the wall, and the glow of Jack's computer screen. Jack himself was in his chair, turning something over in his hands and studying it.

“Some papers for you to sign.” Ianto tried to sound normal, brisk and impersonal. The _Sir_ felt closer to the surface than ever. If you didn't say it when you were shagging the man, did you say it when he went mad and took you hostage? Maybe. “And I thought maybe a cappuccino.” He lifted it with a faint, self-deprecating smile.

Jack looked up, looked at the coffee, and smiled. “You're not trying to drug me, are you?”

“What? No—no.” They'd discussed it; it had seemed too risky, possibly too pre-emptive. Thank God. “Just coffee.” He smiled, unsure how to play this. How conscious Jack was of his own strange behavior. “A bit of a peace offering, I guess.”

Jack's smile turned quizzical.

“For that...all that, in there.” Ianto gestured vaguely toward the conference room. “I'll just put this down here.” He stepped forward and set the cup on the edge of Jack's desk. It also allowed him to see what Jack was fiddling with beneath the desk. His pistol.

“Close the door, will you?” Jack said.

Ianto stood frozen. “I just have,” he said finally, raising the papers. “Just some quick things to sign.”

“Close the door.”

Ianto took a breath, nodded, and went back to close the door.

“Lock it,” said Jack. His attention was on the gun. Ianto could hear the small snicking sounds of bullets going into the cartridge.

“I really should get back to work.”

“Ianto.” Jack looked up, and flashed him a grin. “It can wait. You, on the other hand.” He left that hanging, finished loading the gun, and put it on the desktop, within reach. “You need immediate attention.”

“No, really, I'm fine—“

“Come here.” Jack raised a finger before Ianto could say anything. “And I think we both know by now that I don't like having to repeat myself.”

“No,” Ianto said automatically. “Of course not.” He flipped the deadbolt on the door, and walked across to Jack's desk. The room seemed very quiet, the gun very big. He had to fight to keep his eyes on Jack's face. What had Owen told him to look for? Enlarged pupils, sweating, trembling hands. Signs of a toxic substance in the bloodstream. Jack didn't seem to have any of the symptoms. Ianto, on the other hand, felt reasonably sure he was showing all of them.

“Ianto Jones,” Jack said in a speculative tone, sitting back and letting his hands fall to his thighs. “Did I ever tell you what I thought the first time I saw you?”

“Yeah.” Ianto smiled weakly. “You thought I was a pushy little twat and you were never going to hire me.”

“No, that's what I _told_ you. I thought you had the prettiest mouth in the empire.” Jack smiled. “And that I was never going to hire you.”

“And look at us now.”

“Yeah.” Jack nodded, swiveling in his chair so that he faced Ianto, his legs spread, an open invitation that under other circumstances, Ianto would have been happy to receive. “Look at us now. We're a team.”

“We are that.” Ianto dragged his gaze from Jack's face to the papers in his hand. “Speaking of which—“

Jack leaned forward and took Ianto's wrist in his hand. His touch was gentle. “Forget those,” he said.

“Oh, I can't forget them, we have to file these with the London office by this evening or we won't be able to geargh.” Jack's hand had tightened, his thumb digging into Ianto's tendon. “Right, forgotten.” He let them fall, seesawing to the floor. “What papers?” Feebly, he laughed.

“That's better.” Jack pulled, and Ianto tried manfully not to resist, to let himself be drawn down but not completely down, not onto his knees, which was clearly where Jack wanted him. He succeeded in perching awkwardly on the corner of Jack's desk, on top of some probably-very-important papers. Jack let go of his wrist, sat back, and studied him. “Ianto, it's almost like you're avoiding me.”

“What?” He had to resist the urge to rub his wrist. “No, not at all. I came up here, didn't I?”

Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Look,” Ianto said, trying desperately to think. “It's just...are you sure you're feeling all right?”

“Why wouldn't I be feeling all right?”

“I don't know.” There was a look in Jack's eye now, a look Ianto didn't like. It was close to the look he'd had in the conference room, before he'd gone for Owen. “Jack, listen to me. It's me, all right? Ianto. You trust me.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. There was a long pause, and then he nodded. Ianto breathed again.

“It's just,” he said, leaning forward, willing his fear and sincerity to break through whatever madness was going on here. “You're acting strange. You locked us in. You threatened Owen.”

Jack took a deep breath, and let it out in a sigh. “I'm disappointed, Ianto.”

“I think you're sick, Jack. I think something's wrong with you.”

“You do.” Jack looked away, his jaw tightening. “Is that what you think?”

Ianto said nothing.

“I see,” said Jack. He looked briefly at the gun, then away. “You think I'm sick, you think I'm crazy. Because I love you.”

Ianto caught his breath, then swallowed hard. He had to clear his throat to speak. “I just think—“

“You think someone else should be making the decisions.” Jack's chin was up, his voice was rising. “You're not a military man, Ianto, but maybe you know what the military calls that. Mutiny. You know what the punishment is for mutiny?”

“Jack, listen to me.”

“It's very severe. It's about as severe as it gets. It's like desertion, or treason. When a man betrays everyone he cares about, everything he stands for, what does he deserve, Ianto?”

Ianto blinked hard, and put his hand on Jack's knee. “Please stop this.” Jack knocked his hand away and Ianto turned it, caught hold of Jack's wrist, and quickly, before Jack could react, leaned down and kissed him. It was awkward but heartfelt, and the smell of Jack's body, the taste of his mouth, were wonderfully familiar. For a moment Ianto closed his eyes and let himself go, let himself swing in the breeze.

Then Jack grabbed him by the hair, jerked his head back, and yanked him to his knees. The desk lamp was hot and bright beside his face. His eyes watered, his mouth gaped open. The angle of his throat kept any sound from leaking out.

Jack's face was close to his, his breath hot on Ianto's cheek.

“Are you a traitor?” he whispered. Ianto choked out a small animal sound, and Jack pulled his head down, corkscrewing him to the floor. “Can I trust you, Ianto Jones?”

 _Yes,_ he tried to say. _Yes, you can trust me. You're mad, but I still love you, still serve you. I'm just that pathetic._ At the same time, he knew that if Jack didn't take the gun from the desk and blow his head off, he'd do whatever he could to get out from under him. Mr. and Mrs. Jones hadn't raised any suicides.

He was practically full-length on the floor now, gasping and blinking, vaguely aware that Jack was straddling him, a knee on either side of Ianto's hips. He could smell Jack's body, his breath, those latter-day pheromones that could pique his body's interest even with a hand around his throat.

Jack noticed, of course. He shifted, glanced down, and loosened his hold on Ianto's hair. When Ianto's vision cleared, he found Jack regarding him speculatively.

“Bad dog,” Jack said, shifting again. His tone pleased, a smile starting up on his lips. Ianto swallowed, coughed, and tried to smile back.

“You can trust me,” he said.

“Of course I can,” Jack said, and kissed him. It was real kissing this time, not the hurried, half-participatory clinches they'd had the last few times. It was the kind Gwen had caught them at, heated and messy, buttons popping off and rolling away, fingers in each other's hair, the clack of teeth and the hard push of Jack's tongue, like being fucked in the mouth. Ianto heard himself make a ragged panting sound, heard himself say the kinds of ridiculous pleading things he always said when Jack was on top of him. _Please God yes fuck_ , that sort of thing. Begging for something he knew better than to want, but Christ in heaven, he still wanted it.

They wrestled briefly on the floor, on top of the requisition forms, until Ianto realized he was half-naked, his shirt wide open and Jack's hand on his belt, undoing him as easily as opening an envelope. Bad, bad, bad. And getting worse.

“Wait—“ Ianto caught Jack's hand. “Wait, we can't do this.”

“Oh, but we can.” Jack grinned, the crazy devil-may-care grin. “We're consenting adults, Ianto. We can do whatever we want. And I want...” He cupped Ianto's cock, his palm big and warm. “Mmm, nice.”

“Yes, but.” Ianto's mind was blank. “But the others—“

“Fuck 'em.” Jack paused. “Actually, maybe we _could_ —“

Dear God, no. Ianto felt his interest shrivel. “We agreed, nothing obvious at work. It's too complicated.”

Jack frowned. “That's ridiculous. I'm the boss, I decide what we can and can't do. Besides, Gwen shagged Owen.”

“That's not the point.” He was hurriedly doing up his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. “The point is, I report to you. It's bad enough we're doing this in the first place.”

Jack's expression had shifted; he looked wary, cagey. “A minute ago you were climbing me like a tree.”

“I...forgot myself.” He was flat on his back, Jack kneeling astride him—how was he going to get out? He started to squirm free, and was relieved when Jack didn't pin him down. In a minute he was staggering to his feet, pressing the remains of his erection down with the heel of his hand, shoving his shirt into his trousers. “I'm sorry, it's just we agreed about this.”

“And now I'm saying, let's agree on something else.” Jack was rising with him, reaching out to catch hold of his sleeve. “You want it, I want it. We agree.”

“I don't.” Ianto pulled his sleeve away. “I'm sorry.” He was straightening his cuff, so he didn't see it coming until too late. Jack came at him from the side, hard and fast, sending them both into the wall, cracking Ianto's head into the plaster. Ianto let out an involuntary yelp. Jack's hands were at his belt again.

“I'm sorry too,” Jack said, and bit Ianto's ear. Ianto yelled, and Jack swung him sideways into the desk. It caught him in the diaphragm, winding him. He lost his legs for a minute, long enough for Jack to get behind him, kick his feet apart, and shove his shirt and jacket up to his neck. “But I'm the boss. God, you've got a nice back.”

Ianto, heaving for breath, knocking papers and Post-its and the cappuccino to the floor, felt Jack's hands tugging at his belt loops and thought, _He's going to rape me._ It was a flat certainty, unrelated to the horror he was feeling, or to the mounting pain and pressure in his chest and belly as he pulled over and over for air that wouldn't come. He hadn't seen this coming. Really hadn't, not this.

Jack said something, he didn't catch what it was—he'd lost track of details and was scrabbling on the desk for something to use as a weapon when there was a pistol crack, and the door flew open on one hinge. Gwen stood in the frame, her gun leveled at him. No, not at him. At Jack. Behind her, Owen with his gun. Behind him, Tosh with no gun at all.

 _Don't shoot_ , he tried to say, but all that came out was a gagging sound.

“So it's a mutiny,” Jack said, from somewhere above and behind him.

“Let him go,” said Gwen. She was pale, with two spots of color high in her cheeks.

“Okay,” said Jack, and at that moment Ianto's diaphragm unlocked and he took his first deep, heaving breath, like a man coming up from a free dive.

“Ianto,” Gwen said, staring at him. “Are you okay?”

 _Forget me,_ he wanted to say, _watch out for Jack. Watch out for—_

Jack took the pistol from the desk beside Ianto's hand—inches away, it had been—and held it to his ear.

“Surrender your weapons,” he said. “Or I'll turn his head into a pencil cup.”

“Fucking hell,” said Owen.

“Jack,” said Gwen, her tone despairing.

“You're all traitors,” said Jack. “Put down your weapons _now._ ”

Gwen first, Owen last, they put down their guns. Tosh clung to the railing behind them, her face a mask of shock.

“Well now,” said Jack, nudging Ianto to one side, letting him slide off the desk and crumple to the floor. “It looks like we have a situation on our hands.”

 

 

They were in separate cells, all three of them, down in the basement with Janet the Weevil. Jack had locked them in at gunpoint, and had considered locking Ianto in too, but Ianto had been able to put that idea to rest. Amazing what a dirty fumble in the stairwell could do. The whole time, half of Ianto's mind was busy with the question of what the hell he was going to do next.

“You're preoccupied,” Jack observed, drawing back.

“I'm winded,” Ianto confessed, touching his stomach. Jack looked guilty, and kissed him more gently. Didn't press much past first base. Thank God.

Ianto made a second cappuccino, then a third. They sat at the conference room table to drink them. The CCTV screens showed Owen, Tosh, and Gwen standing in the corners of their cells, probably in consultation.

“Should we listen in?” Jack asked, flourishing the remote. Ianto shrugged. Jack put the sound on.

“--completely mad. What the hell do we do now?”

“I don't know. He's got the master key. I can't override that, not even if I had my laptop.”

“All right, don't panic. Ianto's still free. Maybe he can--”

“Maybe he can get assaulted again, yeah. There's a great idea. Don't know if you noticed, love, but Ianto's not in such a good position either. Didn't look to me like he was enjoying that little office affair.”

Jack rolled his eyes and gave Ianto a _Can you believe these guys?_ look. Ianto smiled into his coffee.

“Ianto's free,” Gwen repeated firmly. “It's up to him now. We have to be ready for any kind of signal he might send us.”

“Like yelling, 'Help, help, I'm being assaulted,'” Owen said morosely. Jack flicked the volume off, then killed the screens.

“Good coffee.”

“Thanks.”

“Thank _you_.” Jack raised the cup. Ianto kept his eyes down while the silence stretched out. “Ianto.”

“Hm?”

Jack pushed his cup away and leaned across the table to put his hand on Ianto's forearm. “I know this seems strange. I know it's hard to accept. But it's something I should have done a long time ago. Owen's death woke me up to that.”

Ianto considered this. “You think,” he said after a moment, “that it's better if we all just stay put? Safer, I mean.”

Jack nodded. “It's a first step.”

“What's the second one?”

Jack took a deep breath and locked eyes with him. “Immortality.”

“Immor—what?”

“If it can happen to me, it can happen to you. I just need time to figure it out.” Jack was pensive, chasing down an idea. “The problem is, you'll all get old while I'm working on it. So I'm thinking I freeze you.”

“Jack.”

“We have enough drawers. I freeze you all and lock the base down, go find my Doctor and together, we bring back a pinch of that magic fairy dust.”

“Jack.”

“I should get a dose for him too, while I'm at it. He's part of the team, sort of.” Jack gave Ianto a sideways look. “You'd like him. Really, he's a great man. And hey, maybe when we're all together again...” His gaze drifted down to Ianto's throat, and he licked his lips.

“Jack!” Ianto laid both hands flat on the table and tried to sound authoritative. “You can't make us immortal. We don't even know why _you're_ immortal.”

“We'll figure it out.” Jack shrugged, dashing and cavalier, a big-picture man. “Tosh can help with the hard parts. Which reminds me, I need to discipline those three. Any ideas?”

“I don't—that's not my line.”

“It really isn't, is it?” Jack sighed and stretched. “You're more of a sign-here-in-triplicate kind of man. It's what I like about you. You're so corruptible.” He smiled and stood up. “It's been a while since I tortured anyone, but I think I can remember the outlines. I'll need, let's see, a pair of bolt cutters, some duct tape, maybe some of those alligator clips Tosh uses for the radio—”

Ianto realized with horror that a part of his brain was actually taking this down, making a checklist. He was obviously going mad. Jack had already walked out of the room; with a sense of total unreality, Ianto stood and followed him. “Jack, you can't do this. You can't actually go down there and torture them.”

Jack, halfway down the stairs to the control room, paused and turned. “Come here, will you?”

Ianto's heart gave a rabbity leap. He tucked his chin to his chest, put a hand on the railing and walked down to where Jack stood. Jack took hold of the lapel of his jacket and pulled him down one more step, so Jack had the full advantage of his height.

“What you need to understand,” Jack said softly, pushing his fist into Ianto's chest with the words, “is that I'm the boss. I can do anything I want with you. Any of you.”

“I understand that.”

“Do you?”

Ianto swallowed. “I do. I just think...they made a mistake, that's all. Like you said, it's hard to accept at first. But if you hurt them, it'll just make it harder.”

Jack tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, as if that would let him see deeper into Ianto, peel back more layers and expose the truth. His face, Ianto noticed for the first time, had taken on a taut, slightly manic cast. His fist was still bunched in Ianto's lapel.

 _If I were a better man,_ Ianto thought, _I'd go for his gun._

He swallowed, and did nothing.

Then Jack's expression broke—and it was amazing, a little frightening, how quickly he could flip from murderously intent to delighted. “You know something?” He gave Ianto a shake. “You're right. That's why I keep you around, Ianto. You're thoughtful.”

Ianto tried for a smile, and was fairly certain it was dismal. Jack didn't seem to notice.

“I could torture them,” Jack went on, “but I think you're right, I'd just get push-back. They mutinied once, they'll mutiny again. What I need to do is win them over. Or kill them.”

“Wha—?”

“Killing's easier,” Jack said, mulling. “And if I freeze them right away, it won't matter—I'll just resurrect them when I get back. They'll understand when they wake up.”

“Jack, no, wait—“

“Good work, Ianto.” Jack pulled him close, cupped his arse and the back of his head, and kissed him. Ianto, crushed against the stair railing, slipped his arms under Jack's, embraced him, felt for his gun. Before he could reach it, Jack pulled back. Ianto stood panting, his cheeks on fire, while Jack straightened his tie for him. “Oh, and Ianto—”

“Yes?”

Jack punched him in the mouth. It was so fast he didn't see it coming, for a second didn't know what had happened. His head snapped back and he saw stars. It felt like he'd been hit with a length of plywood.

“Hey, hey, come on.” Jack's hands were on him, cradling his neck, patting his cheek. “That wasn't so bad. I pulled it.”

Ianto let out a gurgling moan as blood filled his mouth. Jack stood there while he spat and blinked, touched his lip, felt the split in it.

“That,” Jack said, “was just a reminder.” He wiped the blood off Ianto's chin, grinned, winked, and walked down the stairs to the control room. “I'm going to go prep the cryogenics chambers. See if you can rustle up a gurney or two. If not, I'll need you to help me carry them up here.”

Ianto stood frozen on the stair, swallowing blood, trying to think. He saw himself lugging Tosh's dead body up the stairs from the cells, dumping her into a drawer. All of them. Jack was going to kill them all because he loved them. And because he was insane.

But he hadn't done it yet. And as Gwen had said, Ianto was still free. Rapidly, he began examining his options. Free the others—no, Jack had the master key. Christ, he should have tried for the key by now. But he was an office boy, not a pickpocket. Jack would feel him try it, and the jig would be up. Jack's gun, then. He could have got it if he'd been less of an idiot in the office. If he'd just lain back and thought of England, instead of panicking. Too late. Some other gun. But the armory was locked, Jack had taken all the guns from the threshold of his office, and locked them in his desk. And Ianto's own gun was...in its holster. In the lorry. In the basement. Covered in monster blood.

He felt a galvanic surge at the thought of it, his gun lying down there on the front seat of the lorry, right where he'd left it after dragging the hell-beast home. His gun was there. All he had to do was go down and get it, and with one well-placed bullet he could—

One bullet.

His gun was empty.

For a moment it was too much, too stupid and awful, and he wanted to cry. Then he took a deep breath, fished his handkerchief from his pocket, folded it neatly into quarters, and pressed it to his lip while he ran down the stairs and started for the basement.

 

 

“Ianto!” Gwen was pressed to the glass; they all were. “Ianto, are you all right?”

“Fine.” He stood in the middle of the hall, in between the cells. “Do any of you have any bullets?”

“What?”

“Bullets. I need bullets.” He was half-shouting, he realized, and he forced himself to take a breath, to slow down. Jack could be watching this, but it didn't matter anymore, they were out of time. “My gun's empty, Jack's locked the armory. I need bullets.”

“Bullets,” Gwen repeated, her eyes fixed on his face. Her hands went to her pockets and turned them out. “Shit, no. Tosh?”

Tosh was already shaking her head. Owen didn't even bother to look.

“Fuck!” Ianto felt his lip go again, sending a tickle of blood down his chin. “Is there any way I can open these without the master key?”

“None,” said Owen morosely. “Believe me, we've been over it.”

“Listen to me,” Ianto said. “Jack's coming down here to shoot you all, unless I can find a way to stop him. He's gone completely round the bend. He thinks he can make us all immortal.”

“He's bananas,” Owen observed.

“You think?” There was a touch of hysteria in Ianto's tone, but he felt it was justified. “I'm not going to stand here and watch while he executes you and dumps you in the freezer. There's got to be some way I can—”

“The monster,” Tosh said. They all looked at her. “It ate my gun. My gun's inside it.”

“Your gun,” Owen said, “Is a semi-digested lump of metal, love. I saw it. It's not going bang anytime soon.”

“But it has bullets in it,” Tosh said. “The gun's damaged, but the bullets might work. It's the same gun as yours, Ianto. We all have the same gun.”

Ianto stared at her, then at Owen. “Where is it?”

“Autopsy room.” Owen's eyes had widened; if he'd been alive, he might have been flushed. “I left it on a surgical tray.”

“Oh God,” Gwen said, pressing her hands to her mouth. “Ianto, be quick about it.”

“Right.” He'd be as quick as he possibly could. He hit the door to the garage at a dead sprint.

 

There was a terrible moment when he was sure he'd locked the driver's side door, and he was going to have to hang off the rear-view mirror and break the window, and there was no time for that, no time for any of this—but it turned out the door was open, the keys were in the ignition, and his holster was lying on the front seat, waiting patiently for him. He grabbed it, shrugged his jacket off, and thought, _What if Jack sees it on me?_ Too late to worry about that. He strapped it on and got his jacket back on while he ran back to the service stairs. Not the elevator, he didn't want Jack to hear the elevator coming up from the basement. He was supposed to be in the autopsy room, getting gurneys.

It was two flights up, and he took them three stairs at a time. When he spilled out of the stairwell he was gasping for breath, wiping sweat from his throat, struggling to drop his pace to a walk. If Jack had taken a turn to check the CCTV...but there was no point thinking about that. The only thing he could think about now was Tosh's gun, and the bullets inside it.

He made it down the hall to the autopsy room. No sign of Jack. The room was empty except for two gurneys, some trays of surgical tools, the clamp lights and IV stands and...oh God, was that Tosh's gun?

He stood staring at it. It looked like a child's drawing of a gun, a nubby featureless black L. Semi-digested, Owen had said. Not going bang anytime soon.

No time for this, though. He grabbed it and felt with his thumb for the cartridge ejector. It was almost completely gone, but there was just enough left for him to press it, dig with his thumbnail, and inside something clicked and loosened. He grabbed a scalpel and set about prying the cartridge out.

When it finally slid free, there was one bullet in it.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, staring at it. It looked all right. A little smudged, maybe pitted at one end. Maybe that was just a fleck of dirt. Normally he'd discard it out of hand—you never loaded bad ammunition, not unless you wanted your arm blown off—but now he grabbed it and dropped it into his bloodied handkerchief, polishing it madly. It came out a little cleaner, or maybe it was just his imagination.

From somewhere in the direction of the cryogenic chambers, he heard a door close.

Moving quickly and surely, he took his gun from its holster, ejected the cartridge, and loaded the bullet. He could hear Jack's footsteps approaching. Quick, long stride. For a moment he stood with the gun in his hand, weighing it. When Jack came through the door and around the railing, he could fire. He'd have the element of surprise. Maybe. Unless Jack had been watching. And what if he missed?

The door above opened. Ianto slipped the gun back into its holster and, as an afterthought, closed Tosh's gun and placed it back on the tray where he'd found it.

When Jack came around the railing and down the steps, Ianto was draping a crisp new paper sheet onto one of the gurneys. Jack stopped and watched him, his hands on his hips.

“I don't think they're going to care about the sheets.”

“Like you said.” Ianto tugged the sheet square, and smoothed a crease. “I'm a sign-here-in-triplicate kind of bloke.”

Jack said nothing, and after a moment Ianto looked up. Jack was holding his gun against his thigh, studying Ianto intently. “How you doing, Ianto?”

“Sorry?” Immediately, he knew that Jack had been watching. He knew about the gun, he knew Ianto was a traitor. “I'm...well, I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine.” Jack took a step forward, raising the gun. He wasn't pointing it at Ianto; he was holding it to one side, looking at it. “You look like you're not really on board with the plan.”

Ianto, staring at the gun, said nothing.

“It's okay.” Jack took another step forward, examining the gun. “If it would be easier for you, I could do you first. I'd rather not. I could use your help. And frankly, I'd rather keep you around for a few more years before I freeze you.” He looked at Ianto. “Either way, I'm going to miss you.”

“I'll miss you too,” Ianto said, without thinking. His throat was parched.

“But if it would be easier.” Jack waved the gun expansively, still not pointing it at Ianto. Not exactly. “I could change things up a bit.”

“That's all right.” Ianto turned back to the sheet, smoothing it against the gurney, moving without thinking. “I'd rather wait, I think.” He heard himself laugh. “You'll need someone to make your coffee.”

Jack walked to the far end of the gurney, took hold of it, and leaned forward to meet Ianto's eyes. “You're a good man, Ianto. A good partner.”

“I love you,” said Ianto, and then thought, _Why the hell did I say that?_ It had come out of nowhere.

Jack seemed to go still. Something went out of his face, some kind of tension that Ianto hadn't even noticed. For a moment he looked younger, slacker, almost lost. Almost like a different man.

Then it passed, and the dangerous sheen came back into his eyes. He grinned.

“I love you too,” he said. “Now let's go tie up those loose ends.”

 

 

They took the elevator down. Jack was in front; Ianto rolled the gurney behind him. Ever the faithful retainer.

When they reached the cells, nobody spoke for a minute. Gwen stood front and center with her arms crossed over her chest, the plaster glowing under the fluorescents. Owen had taken a seat against the far wall of his cell, and he didn't bother to get up. Tosh caught Ianto's eye, then looked away immediately. She looked anxious. Fair enough, he was fucking terrified.

“Okay,” said Jack. “Here's the situation. You mutinied, which makes you traitors. You have no rights. I could make your lives very difficult, very painful, to teach you that lesson. But I'm not going to do that.”

“Jack,” said Gwen, shaking her head. “Please. Stop this.”

“I love you,” Jack went on. “All of you. And Ianto helped me see that punishing you will make things harder. You won't work with me on this. So I'm going to make another hard decision.”

“Would that be the kind of decision that involves loud noises and lots of blood?” Owen was studying his fingernails, looking grim.

“Jack,” Gwen said again. “I don't know what's happened, why you're acting like this, but please. We can fix it. We can talk about it.”

“No more talking,” Jack said softly. “I'm sorry, Gwen. Tosh, Owen. All of you. I'm sorry about this. But you'll understand when you wake up. We'll be together then, really together. It'll be okay, I promise.”

“Jack,” said Ianto. He had the gun out, a bead on Jack's head. Jack turned. He stared at the gun, then at Ianto.

“I'm sorry too,” Ianto said, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Jack had flinched automatically, taken a step back. They all heard the hollow click of the misfire. _Bad ammunition_ , Ianto thought. _Never load bad ammunition._

Then Jack's face was changing, rage splitting through, and he was raising his own gun, his teeth bared as if he wanted to rip Ianto apart, not just shoot him but tear him limb from limb.

“Ianto!” someone screamed. Gwen or Tosh. He couldn't tell. Desperately, he pulled the trigger again. No point, really, but he couldn't help the reflex.

There was a resounding crack, and he was shoved back a step, his foot catching the gurney wheel and sending it spinning off into the glass wall of Janet's cell.

“Oh my God,” said Gwen.

Jack was on his knees. A neat hole in the middle of his forehead. A messy spray out the floor behind him. His gun hit the floor with a clatter. Slowly, he collapsed.

“Ianto,” Gwen was saying. “Ianto, love. Ianto. Are you all right? Ianto? Ianto?”

 

 

He took the master key from Jack's pocket, and Tosh told him how to unlock the Hub. They put Jack on the gurney, wheeled him upstairs, and loaded him into one of the cryogenic chambers. Ianto resisted the urge to straighten the collar of his shirt before they slid the drawer closed.

Owen stitched Ianto's lip for him. “Three stitches,” he said. “Just bitty ones. You okay...otherwise?” His eyes slid off Ianto's face, down to the needle he was fiddling with.

“Fine,” Ianto said. He tossed his bloodied handkerchief into the hazmat bin on the way out.

 

 

“An EMP should do it,” Tosh said. “Electromagnetic pulse. As far as I can tell, some stray bit of rift energy got loose and just...settled on him. I didn't know that could happen.”

“None of us did,” Gwen said, studying the charts Tosh had laid down on the table. “What did it do to him, exactly?”

“Turned him into a nutter,” Owen said. “Or, if you want the medical jargon, increased his inherent tendencies toward psychopathy.” To their looks, he added, “Turned him into a nutter.”

“He said he loved us,” Ianto said. The charts were supposed to tell him something, he knew that, but he couldn't make any of it come together in his head. “Rift energy made him say that?”

“Look.” Owen shoved the papers away with his bandaged hand. “Jack's a bit of a psychopath as it is. Charming, intelligent, self-absorbed. Morally dodgy. This thing just...dialed him up to eleven. Didn't change who he is, just made him a lot more intense.”

“What scares me most,” Gwen said, “is that none of us even saw it happen. I mean, it could happen again. It could happen to any of us.”

“I saw it,” Ianto breathed, remembering the spark. They all looked at him, but he wasn't thinking about them. He was thinking that the rift energy had made everything about Jack more intense. His violence, his paranoia. His love. Under normal circumstances, he didn't feel that way at all.

He saw the spark again, drifting through the darkness, toward Jack's neck. It was such a tiny thing, so benign. He'd forgotten all about it.

 

 

The EMP worked. Jack woke up, whole and complete, churned through the cosmic spin cycle once more time. He'd died a lot, Ianto reminded himself. He was probably used to it by now.

He didn't remember anything—somewhere in there, some synapses had been fried, and after Owen pronounced him healthy in all the important ways, they all agreed it was for the best.

“You weren't yourself,” Gwen told him, patting him on the shoulder. “We took care of it. Not to worry.”

“I feel so stupid,” he said. “At least tell me I didn't put a lampshade on my head.”

“No lampshades.” Owen stripped off his gloves and tossed them in the bin. “Although you did borrow fifty quid off me.”

In the control room, Tosh sat quietly deleting all the digital tapes from the CCTV.

 

 

Things went back to normal. Tosh fiddled with the computers, Owen tidied the lab. Gwen spent a rare night out with Rhys. Good for her. It was bloody hard having a proper relationship when you were in Torchwood. Live fast, die young and lonely, that was the motto. Or it ought to be.

Ianto made coffee, and cleared the cups away.

He took some papers up to Jack's office one evening, late, after the rest had gone home. Just standard things, requisitions forms that had to be in to the London branch by Monday. The door was closed, the blinds drawn. He hesitated, then knocked.

“Come.” He pushed the door open and put his head in. It was dim, just the desk light on, the bulb pushed to face the wall. Jack was at the desk, studying some papers.

“All right time?”

Jack looked up. His eyes looked strained, as if he'd been reading for some time. Ianto raised the folder in mute explanation.

“Ianto. Come in.”

“Just some standard stuff.” He came in sorting through it, pulling out the ones that needed duplicate and triplicate signatures. “They're due Monday, but I'll call the courier—”

“How's your lip?” Jack was staring at his mouth, the stitches Owen had put in. They'd told him it had been an accident, a fall on the steps in all the confusion. Still, Ianto put a hand up self-consciously.

“Fine. It's nothing, really. Stupid of me.”

Jack nodded, and looked back down at the papers in his hands. They were handwritten, Ianto noticed, on yellow legal paper. The penmanship was old and fluid, beautiful.

“I'm just reading something,” Jack said unnecessarily. “I found it in my desk drawer.” He looked up, into Ianto's eyes. “It's funny, it looks like my handwriting. But I don't remember writing it.”

Ianto froze. He was aware that his mouth was open, that he looked ridiculous and guilty. He'd never been good with spur-of-the-moment lies.

“It's long,” Jack said, touching the paper with one fingertip. “And it's ugly. And you're in it.”

Ianto took a deep breath. “Well, you weren't yourself. Maybe you had some flights of fancy—“

“And maybe you tripped on the stairs.” Jack looked up. “I'm not stupid, Ianto.”

Ianto set the folder down on the edge of Jack's desk. “No.”

“What I wrote here...I was planning to kill you. All of you.”

“You didn't do that.”

“But I tried.”

Ianto neither confirmed nor denied. Jack leaned back in his chair and dragged his hands over his face.

“I did that to you,” he said, nodding at Ianto's lip. “And you were limping, for a day or two. I did things to you, and I don't remember them.”

Ianto kept his eyes on the edge of Jack's desk.

“Why the fuck didn't any of you tell me?” Jack grabbed the papers, crumpled them, and shoved them to the floor. “Why lie?”

Ianto laid the folder down where the papers had been. “If it makes you feel any better,” he said, “I shot you. In the head.”

Jack stared.

“It doesn't matter,” Ianto said. “It's all over now. You were the only one who got really hurt.” He started back to the door, then paused. “Really, Jack. It's okay. What you did...you did it out of love.”

Jack sat back sharply, as if he'd been slapped.

 

 

Later, in the pub, Ianto got falling-down drunk and let Owen clear up the mess. He talked too much and regretted it the next day, when he was back in the Hub, dry-mouthed and hungover, making espresso in a clean suit. But Owen never brought it up. Good man, Owen.

Jack steered clear for a while, then came cautiously back around with tickets to a stupid movie, and they went together, and it was fine. Sitting in the dark, with Jack's thumb running lightly over his palm, Ianto closed his eyes and thought of the spark. Of Jack with the mad light in his eyes. That bad, mad gleam of danger and death. _I love you too._

He opened his eyes and watched the movie. Halfway through he took out his phone to text himself a reminder about the forms they had to submit by Monday.


End file.
